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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



THE SMILE-BRINGER 



THE 

SMILE-BRINGER 

And Other Bits of Cheer 

"By 

WILLIAM HERSCHELL 



tAuthor of 

Songs of the Streets and Byways 

The Kid Has Gone to the Colors, etc. 



£^7 



ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS BY 

PAUL SHIDELER 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright 1919 
The Bobbs-Merrill Company 



OtC -8 i 919 



©CI.A5a5980 



TO 

j. P. II. 



In this, his third book of verse, 
the author has included several 
titles that found favor during the 
war. Among them are "The Serv- 
ice Flag," "The Soldier of the 
Silences" and "Huh-uh! Not 
Me!" 

All the verses contained in this 
volume have appeared in The 
1/idianapolis News and the author 

is grateful for permission to 
reprint them. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Smile-Bringer 1 

The Lily at the Window 3 

"Out-Here-Where" 5 

Bud Lyster . 8 

Blossomtime in Town . . . . . . 10 

The Three Flags 13 

Chuck a Little Chuckle 16 

Alley Golf 20 

Li'l Boy Blew 22 

Thrashing-Time at Granny's .... 25 

The Tie that Binds ....... 28 

Come, Sweet April, Come! .... 31 

Saint Happy 33 

The Day— November 11, 1918 . . . 36 

Uncle Dud 38 

"This Way Out" 41 

The Go-Fars 43 

Veterans 46 

Little Girl Next Door an' Me . . . . 48 

July Jealousy 51 

Christmas Greens 53 

Helping Mother ........ 56 

The Back Way Home 58 

The Service Flag 61 



CONTENTS— Continued 



Childhood Knows No Race or Creed 
Maytime on Muscatatuck 
Ain't God Good to Indiana? 
Feller and Kid and Guy 

Twins Is Twins 

The Millersville Cycle Path 
The King Walked in His Garden 
Little Lady Junetime 
How Yo' All Spell Marie? 
The Little Old Everything Store 
It Isn't Alone the Summertime 

Juneitis 

Little Town of What's-Its-Name 
The Land of Summergone 
De Pallet on de Flo' . . 
An Humble Grace 
Little Kid Brother of Mine 
Huh-uh ! Not Me ! . . . 
Down on th' Crick with Daddy 
The Watchmanette . 
The Old Homemade Wagon 
The Soldier of the Silences 
A Dissertation on Lickrish . 
An Idler on Cataract 



PAGE 

63 
66 
69 

72 

74 

77 

79 

82 

83 

86 

88 

91 

93 

97 

99 

102 

103 

106 

108 

111 

114 

117 

119 

121 



THE SxMILE-BRINGER 



THE SMILE-BRINGER 

I NEVER shall forget the place 
Where first I saw his smiling face; 
A face that Heaven must have sent 
To banish human discontent. 

'Twas in a lonely street that we 
Came face to face quite suddenly. 
Two roguish eyes looked up ! And then 
The sun came out for me again! 

I don't know what was wrong that day, 
My thoughts were deep in Dismal Bay. 
You've had those days, the same as I, 
When we're in cloud and don't know why. 

'Tis then, if Fate is kind, it sends 
Across our path those cheering friends 
Whose happy natures are designed 
To help us leave our cares behind. 

1 



THE SMILE-BRINGER 

Smile-bringers ! That is what they are 
Who lift the mist and heal the scar. 
Mine, though a boy, has glow of face 
That makes my heart a happy place. 

One glance at him and I forget 
That Gloom and I have ever met. 
He smiles — and with those eyes of blue 
Smiles deeper — till I'm smiling too ! 



THE LILY AT THE WINDOW 

JUST a plain, old-fashioned cottage, 
Let your fancy call to mind, 
One with latticed porch and shutters 

And an arbor in behind. 
Not a house of rare distinction, 

Not a home of quaint design, 
But a cot wherein a mother 

Breathes a sentiment divine. 
By the little kitchen window, 

On the sunny southern side, 
She has grown a flower — a lily — 

Herald of the Eastertide. 
Symbol of the Resurrection! — 

In a pygmy petal-tomb 
She had seen it sleep — then waking! — 

Glorify that simple room! 

Through the long and dreary winter 
She had nurtured it with care, 

Dreaming that with Spring's returning 
Happiness would blossom there. 

3 



THE LILY AT THE WINDOW 

She had worked with love, believing 

That her worn and wrinkled hands 
Have a touch that e'en a lily — 

Like a baby — understands. 
Ah, and now before her window, 

Fair as Junetime's fairest sky, 
Bloom the children of her nurture, 

Gladdening- each passer-by. 
This her sweet reward for patience, 

For the new-blown buds impart 
Spring's glad message: "He is Risen!" 

And a new song fills her heart. 



"OUT-HERE-WHERE" 

MY HEART grew glad when I heard him say 
His was the cabin of logs and clay; 
His was this haven of trees grown rare, 
Known to him only as "Out-here-where." 
'Way out here where the road winds by, 
Merging its trail with the western sky. 
What other name could a wildwood bear 
Dearer or sweeter than "Out-here-where" ? 

"Out-here-where!" What a wonderful spot 
Just for a home, though an humble cot, 
Out here where Time's fleeting hours 
Blend their flight with trees and flowers. 
Here where the morns and noontides lay 
Sun-kissed tithes on the shrine of Day. 
Here where the fireflies nightly fare, 
Brightening an old man's "Out-here-where." 

5 



OUT-HERE- WHERE 

Why do men labor for more than this? 
Where has God's goodness such emphasis? 
Here where the fields meet normal needs, 
Here where the soul disdains all creeds. 
Out in the open where men may see 
All that an Eden might hope to be. 
Heavens I dream of are not more fair, 
Dear old man, than vour "Out-here-where" 



BUD LYSTER 

A BARBER WHO DIED BEFORE HE WANTED TO 

WHEN first we heard old Bud was dead, 
It wasn't what th' grown-ups said 
That made th' thing seem doubly sad — 
What got us all to feelin' bad 
Was what th' little kids would say 
When they was told he'd passed away, 
Fer Bud, in fact, was what you'd call 
A kind of pardner of them all. 

Th' kids, somehow, all joyed to stop 
In front of Hughie's barber shop 
An' ketch Bud cuttin' some one's hair, 
Then they'd stand 'round a-grinnin' there 
Till he'd stop work an' say he bet 
He'd haf to cut their ears off yet. 
Then they'd all laugh an' scream an' run 
Like they don't know he's all in fun. 

8 



BUD LYSTER 

Poor Bud is dead ! Well, I can't see 
What use in Heaven Bud can be 
When us folks need him so down here 
To drown our worries with his cheer. 
'Course Bud was not a pious chap — 
He'd smoke an' chew an' cuss an' scrap, 
But all his faults, folks alius said, 
Got down no deeper than his head. 

An' oh, how glad Bud was to live ! 
To smile an' joke an' go an' give; 
You'd start a-laughin' when he'd say : 
"I heard a bran' new tale to-day." 
An' Bud is dead ! Well, I'll just bet 
If Bud had choice he'd be here yet, 
Fer Bud was alius gladdest when 
He played with kids an' joked with men! 



BLOSSOMTIME IN TOWN 

WHEN Spring, the Princess Magic, blends 
her April sun and rain 
To breathe a bud-tint border for the orchard path 

and lane, 
Then legion hearts find longing for the country — 

but for me 
There's something more entrancing in her city wiz- 
ardry. 

The blossoms of the country are, by law of Nature, 
born 

To preface Summer's pageantry of waving wheat 
and corn, 

But here — here in the city — with its gray, un- 
friendly walls, 

A tree aglow with blossoms is a vision that en- 
thralls. 

10 



BLOSSOMTIME IN TOWN 

Across yon barren alley looms, in garb of filmy 

white, 
A tree whose boughs some fairy must have altered 

in a night, 
While 'round the corner, half concealed, as if from 

view to shrink, 
Another blossom-debutante reveals herself in pink. 

Now, in a street where children play, I feel new 
longings rouse — 

They're playing gipsy underneath a tent of lace- 
bloom boughs. 

Ah, childhood of the city streets, what joys are 
showered down, 

For we are children — all of us — when Blossom- 
time's in Town ! 



12 



THE THREE FLAGS 

A SMALL service flag, with its symbol of blue, 
Came out of a window — the conflict was 
through ! 
A glad mother smiled as she folded it, too'; 

Rejoiced that it all was done. 
Her boy had come home from the furies of France, 
His soul still aflame with that final advance; 
He was strong, he was brave — she could see at a 
glance 
Why France and her allies won. 

She kissed the loved emblem and laid it away 
With treasures held sacred for many's the day, 
Then prayed that a relic it ever would stay 

And sadden her heart no more. 
Through months that were ages that little blue star 
Had bound her lone heart to a soldier's afar, 
But now he'd come back without even a scar — 

Her boy as he was of yore. 
13 



THE THREE FLAGS 



111 the house next door is another small flag 
Whose loyal blue star sees the weary months drag 
As it waits for a boy and his old duffel-bag 

To come from a foreign clime. 
The little star knows there is work he must do, 
That, deep in his heart, he is wishing were through, 
For then he'd come home — as he's hungering to — 

But he must abide his time. 

Each day a fond mother scans papers and mail 

For tidings of ships that are listed to sail — 

For one that shall turn him the glad homeward trail 

To her and his service star. 
They'll harken to all of the tales he will tell, 
Of comrades who conquered and others who fell ; 
But he has come out of it, honored and well, 

And oh, how happy they are ! 

* * * 

But, on up the street, by a cottage grown old, 
A passer-by pauses that he may behold 
Another small flag — one emblazoned with gold! — 
The star of a martyr-son ! 
14 



THE THREE FLAGS 

A woman peeps out from the curtains to see 
Whose pity is hers — though she asks none — not she ! 
Her boy was a soldier — a soldier she'll be 
Till Heaven shall make them one. 

Her grief, at first bitter, long forerun by dread, 
Reveals him now living, though named with the 

dead. 
When tears seek a conquest, she whispers instead 

His name — as a mother can. 
How proudly she sees him go forth to the fray, 
No quarter for foes of a breed such as they; 
He died like a soldier — she reared him that way — 

A soldier! A son! A man! 



15 



CHUCK A LITTLE CHUCKLE 

UNCLE HAPPY OFFERS SOME EARLY-IN-THE-YEAR 
PHILOSOPHY 

EF YO' wants to git de new yeah 
Kind o' stahted on its way 
So's de track won't be all bumpy 

An' de crossties show decay, 
Yo' has got to use some chuckles 

As a ballast fo' de ties, 
Ef yo's gwine to* keep de roadbed 
Free frum wreck-perducin' sighs. 
Chuck a little chuckle, 
Chuck a little chuckle, 
Chuck a little chuckle in yo' sighs. 

Sighs is mighty queer devices, 
Made o' nothin', yo' might say, 

Still dey cause a lot o' trouble 
When dey once git undah way. 

Staht frum nowhah, yit dey trabel 

16 



CHUCK A LITTLE CHUCKLE 

Lak a cloud across de skies, 
An' dey's mighty fond o' growin', 
Dat's de reason Ah advise : 

Chuck a little chuckle, 

Chuck a little chuckle, 
Chuck a little chuckle in yo' sighs. 

Funny thing erbout a chuckle — 

It des kind o' oozes in 
Whah de sighs is makin' trouble — 

Den yo' feels de fun begin ! 
Mistah Sigh he kind o' grumbles, 

Mistah Chuckle act su'prise', 
Den, fus' thing yo' know, ole Trouble 

Gits a swat betwix' de eyes ! 
Chuck a little chuckle, 
Chuck a little chuckle, 

Chuck a little chuckle in yo' sighs. 

Chuckles, when dey gits to goin', 
Sho' 'nough gib ole sighs de gaff, 

Keep a-dancin' an' a-prancin' 
Till dey bus' out in a laugh. 
18 



CHUCK A LITTLE CHUCKLE 

Den dey spreads, des lak de measles, 

An' dey grows so big in size 
Dat de whole worl' gits de symptoms, 
Which am why Ah advahtise : 
Chuck a little chuckle, 
Chuck a little chuckle, 
Chuck a little chuckle in yo' sighs. 



19 



ALLEY GOLF 

SWELL golfers has brassies an' drivers an' 
cleeks, 
But never can play till dey've practised f er weeks ; 
You hears 'em yell ''Fore!" w'en dey're drivin' de 

ball, 
W'ich strikes me as kinfolks to no game at all. 

Dey "tee up" an' "stance" an' have all kinds o' 

"form," 
An 1 all kinds o' sweaters to keep deirselves warm ; 
Dey's got to have caddies to hunt fer de pill 
Dat goes in de crick 'stead of over de hill. 

Dat's swell stuff — yeh, maybe — an' maybe it ain't — 
If I had to play it Fd fall in a faint ! 
De real game is alley golf — shinny, dat's right — 
It starts wit' a tin can an' ends wit' a fight. 

20 



ALLEY GOLF 

Dere's none o' dat "Fore!" stuff as ever I've seen — 
You duck yer old nut er git cracked on de bean ! 
You've got to squint fast w'en old shinny begins 
Er go git a doctor to sew up yer shins. 

A broomstick's yer brassie an' driver an' cleek, 
W'ich sure can make strawberries grow on yer beak ; 
Just one little wallop can make yer old eye 
Believe it's been smeared wit' a blackberry pie. 

Dat's sport — not no parlor ner ladylike stuff — 
It cuts out de babies dat's skeered to be rough; 
An', oh, w'en you've cracked dat old can a real jar 
You feels like a man — an' dat's dis w'at I are ! 



21 



LI'L BOY BLEW 

FOLKS dey done nickname him Li'l Boy Blew, 
'Count o' de blowin' dat li'l boy do. 
'Count o' de way he — nights, mawnin's an' noons — 
Stan' 'roun' de cawnah an' blow up b' loons. 
Tickles me wild when dat cute li'l cuss 
Puff up his jaw till he mighty nigh bus'. 

Minnit dat young' un gits hold ob a cent 

He ain't gwine res' till dat money's all spent. 

Off to de sto' he goes, lickety-split, 

Knowin' ezzac'ly whut he gwine to git. 

Sto' man he knows whut he want to git, too — 

My, ain't he ticklesome — Li'l Boy Blew? 

Dah he is now, standin' front ob his do' — 
Look lak de mumps done'n bit him fo' sho'. 
Doan' see a soul dat goes passin' him by, 
Des dat b'loon am de joy ob his eye ! 
Blow, blow an' blow till it's big as his haid — 
Blow hisse'f up yet, dat's whut Ah'm afraid. 

22 



LI L BOY BLEW 

Still, he ain't selfish, dis Li'l Boy Blew ; 
He doan' git mad when he loses a few. 
Ef one gits loose an' goes floatin' away, 
Yo' all should heah whut dat li'l boy say. 
He say he 'spec' de b'loon got a clew 
A' angel felt playful — so up dah it flew ! 



24 



THRASHTNG-TTME AT GRANNY'S 

TO-DAY Youth's pleasures, one by one, are 
marching back to me, 

Each bringing some new memory of days that used 
to be. 

I dream them over — yes, and smile as they go troop- 
ing by, 

Yet in my heart one lone regret is anchored to a 
sigh; 

Just one dear honest longing which no pretense can 
destroy — 

It's thrashing-time at Granny's and I'd like to be a 
boy. 

To-day through grown-up eyes I saw glad children 

hurry by 
To get to Granny's, where the dust of oat-chafl 

filled the sky. 

25 



THRASHING-TIME AT GRANNY S 

I heard the engine's low-toned song, the thrasher's 

busy roar, 
While women hurried in and out old Granny's 

kitchen door. 
I knew their mission was to make the noontide hour 

a joy- 
It's thrashing-time at Granny's and I'd like to be a 

boy. 

To-day around the new-made stacks the boys chase 

old dog Jim, 
The girls are weaving chains of straw to please each 

girlish whim ; 
The men, though toiling steadily, pause now and 

then to jest, 
Or hurl good-natured badinage at lovers self-con- 
fessed. 
Ah, truly 'tis a picture which some artist might em- 
ploy- 
It's thrashing-time at Granny's and I'd like to be a 
boy. 



26 



THRASHING-TIME AT GRANNY S 

To-day Youth's pleasures, one by one, are marching 

back to me, 
Each bringing some new memory of days that used 

to be. 
I've bound them all in brotherhood with purpose 

just to say 
We're holding a reunion here at Granny's house to- 
day. 
To-day I'm Youth's adopted child and harvesting 

its joy- 
It's thrashing-time at Granny's and I'm acting like a 
boy! 



27 



THE TIE THAT BINDS 

WHAT man or woman well endowed 
With heart-warmth, kindly and 
humane, 
But feels the bond of common cause 
With childhood in the pangs of pain? 

A bandaged head, a rag-bound toe, 
Seem Satan's emblems well designed 

To mark some sad, ill-omened hour 
When cuticle was left behind. 

You well remember, don't you, pal, 
Our enemies of barefoot days — 

The sidewalk's warped, uneven boards 
With nails protruding forty ways ? 

In summertime, deep in the creek, 

For winter's fun we paid full price — 

Who would have dreamed our feet would find 
Old shinny cans left on the ice? 

28 



THE TIE THAT BINDS 

And, strange, too, how we liked to play 
Behind some old back-alley shed, 

Where broken bottles cut your feet 
Or low-hung rafters bumped my head. 

With rags from ready shirt tails torn 
Each bound the other's bleeding form; 

Each sob brought pity and a pledge 
Of comradeship sincere and warm. 

It was our sorrows, not our joys, 
That led us into chumship's way — 

The rags and tears of sore-toe years 
Made us the friends we are to-day ! 



30 



COME, SWEET APRIL, COME! 

DEY'S des one song dat's in ma soul, 
Come, sweet April, come ! 
Ma back's 'bout broke f'm shubblin' coal, 

Come, sweet April, come ! 

Ma back's 'bout broke f'm shubblin' snow, 

Ah crave dat Wintah soon will go ; 

Doggone dis doggone ten below — 

Come, sweet April, come ! 

Ah goes to bed at night an' prays, 

Come, sweet April, come ! 
Ah prays dat prayer 'bout forty ways, 

Come, sweet April, come ! 
Ah'd spend de whole night on ma knees 
Fo' des one gentle, soothin' breeze; 
Yit all Ah git am Wintah's wheeze — 

Come, sweet April, come ! 

31 



COME, SWEET APRIL, COME ! 

De wind it blow, de snow it fly, 
Come, sweet April, come ! 

De sleet done bus' yo' in de eye, 
Come, sweet April, come ! 

De mo' yo ; sigh, de mo' it blow ; 

De mo' yo' cuss, de mo' it snow — 

Sweet Springtime, come an' nevah go, 
Come, sweet April, come ! 

All Ah kin do am sit an' wait, 
Come, sweet April, come ! 
Kain't even cut ma catfish bait, 
Come, sweet April, come ! 
Dey's des one day Ah longs to greet — 
Dat's when ma po' ole fros'-bit feet 
Kin pattah down some sun-baked street- 
Come, sweet April, come ! 



32 



SAINT HAPPY 

, '"~ "VVIN'T alius preachin' clo'es 'at makes a 

J^ preacher, I declare, 
Like wearin' undertaker ties an 1 havin' wavy hair. 
It's what's inside yer heart 'at counts in uppercut- 

tin' sin, 
An' right there's where Saint Happy gits his gospel 

wallops in. 
He ain't no Billy Sunday, poundin' pulpits with his 

fist — 
It's what he does 'at makes us kids call him a 'van- 

gelist. 

Old Happy keeps a newsstand up around th' Court- 
house Square ; 

The sidewalk's his cathedral an' he acts his sermons 
there. 

His congregation's pigeons ! An' I guess you'll un- 
derstand 

When I tell you they eat manna out of old Saint 
Happy's hand. 

33 



SAINT HAPPY 

They flock an' flutter 'round him like as if he was a 

saint — 
An' I'd 'joy to see somebody try to tell them birds 

he ain't ! 

But pigeons ain't th' only ones that Happy holds in 
heart ; 

He's made a lot o' humans pledge to do a better 
part. 

There's me, fer instance — say, I'd been as selfish as 
could be 

1 ill good old Happy come along an' put some soul 
in me. 

I thought about good deeds to do to wake my con- 
science up — 

Then went an' stole a wienie fer a little crippled 
pup! 



34 



THE DAY— NOVEMBER 11, 1918 

IT CAME to us in the age-old way, 
Born of the dark and a mist of gray; 
Born of the dawn and the moonset, too, 
Yet, O what a day it was to you ! 
And O what a day it was to me — 
To all of the world from War set free! 

It came to us with a burst of sun 

That shelled the clouds with long-range gun. 

It came from heaven, it came from — Well, 

It came from everywhere but hell ! 

It made every heart catch tune and beat 

Like drums of joy for our marching feet. 

It swept us all in a surging throng, 
A mighty Niagara of mirth and song; 
It made all the old forget their years, 
It made all our sighs enlarge to cheers ; 
It brought us no thought to boast or brag, 
But O how it made us revere The Flag ! 

36 



THE DAY NOVEMBER 11, 1918 

It made us to feel 'twas sweet to be 
Clans in a country where men are free. 
It made us all pledge anew to fight 
The Mightman's menace of rule by might. 
It banished "Der Tag," conceived in hate, 
And gave us This Day to celebrate ! 



37 



UNCLE DUD 

UNCLE DUD ! O Uncle Dud ! 
Neighbors ought to call you Bud, 
Still, they find a lot o' joy 
Tantalizin' such a boy. 
Ask 'em where you got th' name 
They just smile an' say: "It came 
Like most other nicknames do — 
'Cause it don't apply to you." 

Yet, to me, th' Uncle part 
Demonstrates a friendly heart. 
Uncles alius seem to be 
More like chums than kin to me. 
When there's trouble you kin go 
Tell your Uncle an' he'll know 
Just th' thing to do or say 
Sure to drive th' clouds away. 

38 



UNCLE DUD 

Uncle, first time us two met 
Was a day I'll not forget. 
You was packin' water then 
To a crew of thrashermen. 
Thing that I most 'member best 
Was th' way you'd steal a rest; 
'Hind a shock, with puffed-out jaw, 
Suckin' water through a straw. 

Lordy, how I laughed to hear 
Them there farm hands yelp an' jeer; 
One he spoke right up an' cursed 
'Count o' havin' such a thirst. 
You — you didn't mind at all — 
You'd just grin an' let 'em bawl. 
There you set — you little elf — - 
Drinkin' all th' jug yourself! 



40 



"THIS WAY OUT" 

I THINK I'm fairly rational 
In all the things I do ; 
I go around like other folks, 
And have glad days and blue. 

I count my change at theaters, 

I get off street-cars right ; 
Say "Please'' and "Thanks" for everything 

And call all children bright. 

I eat potatoes with a fork, 

I softly sip my soup; 
I shy at equal suffrage talk 

In singles or in group. 

I never play with "deuces wild," 

I never cuss a cop; 
When his hand bids me hesitate, 

You bet your life I stop. 

41 



THIS WAY OUT 

I like to go to movie shows, 

I find the stage a joy; 
I cry when they film " Hearts of Oak," 

And laugh with Eddie Foy. 

I say I'm fairly rational 

In all the things I do ; 
I go around like other folks, 

I have glad days and blue. 

But, tell me — tell me, friend of mine, 

Ere I tear out my wool- 
Why is it, when a door says "PUSH," 

I break my neck to "PULL"? 



42 



THE GO-FARS 

US IS the Go-fars, us is, 
'Count o' because you see 
Us is three go- far trav'lers — 
Buddy an' Sis an' Me. 

Sis she hangs on a-hind me 
Yet she's so awful small 

No one can hardly see her — 
Hands an' her foots is all ! 

It won't be right, I reckon, 
Leavin' her home, 'cause she 

Wants to see th' World herself— 
1st same as Bud an' Me. 

First we go 'way up Yonder 
Where at th' Commons lay ; 

No, we don't go clear to 'em — 
'At's where th' Big Boys play. 
43 



THE GO-FARS 

Nen we go past th' Alley, 

Where at th' Ash Man's there — 
Ash Man's ain't 'fraid o' nothin', 

Ash Man's go ev'rywhere ! 

Next we gO' 'round th' Corner, 
'Cept Buddy don't — 'cause why 

He can't see his house from there — 
Gee, he's a skeerdy guy! 

An' once we saw Policemens, 
But we ain't skeered 'cause they 

Says they likes little childerns — 
We likes them, too, same way. 

We've been 'bout ev'ry places 
'Cept where th' Milkmen's meet ; 

We'd go there, too, but — golly ! — 
'At's 'way across th' Street ! 



44 



VETERANS 

ONE was a Yank in olive clrab, 
The other a Yank in blue; 
One had fought in the years agone, 

The other had just got through. 
Both were men as we measure men — 

Sturdy and brave and true — 
But each had fought his own good fight 
And each had different view. 

One was young as we measure years, 

The other was old and gray, 
And one was sure that Argonne Wood 

Was War's most crimson fray. 
The other knew that Gettysburg 

Made Argonne seem as play — 
And who would urge that Flanders' fields 

Ran red as Shiloh's clay? 

46 



VETERANS 

Both had fought where the shrapnel spat, 

And both had seen it kill, 
But Youth told Age that Vimy Ridge 

Made jest of Malvern Hill. 
And Age told Youth no Pershing born 

Could match old Fighting Phil, 
Who made the ride to Winchester 

And gave the Rebs their fill ! 

Both told tales of wearying nights 

Cursed with a sleepless fag; 
Both had fought in the valley deep 

Or climbed the topmost crag. 
And still they fight ! — but not as then ! — 

To-day they jest and brag 
And thank God for a comradeship 

Beneath the self-same flag! 



47 



LITTLE GIRL NEXT DOOR AN' ME 

IITTLE Girl Next Door an' Me 
_^ An' our ice man — all us three 
Have big fun 'bout ever' day 
In a little game we play. 
Ice man comes an' 'tends 'at he 
Ain't got eyes so he can see 
Us two git some ice an' hide 
When he's takin' ours inside. 
It ain't stealin' 'cause he knows 
Where th' pieces alius goes, 
But it's never fun for us 
'Less he makes a' awful fuss. 

Little Girl Next Door an' Me 
Waits behind our locus' tree 
Till he comes to our house where 
They's a ice card hangin' there. 
Then he acts like he don't see 
Little Girl Next Door an' Me, 

48 



LITTLE GIRL NEXT DOOR AN ME 

But he does, 'cause when he weighs 
Ice fer us he alius lays 
Pieces 'round fer us to git, 
So's we'll run away with it. 
Then he yells: "Well, jiminee! 
Where you s'pose that ice can be?" 

Little Girl Next Door an' Me 
We don't ever disagree. 
We ist play an' play an' play 
Like real pardners ever' day. 
First thing soon's we git some ice 
Then I say it would be nice 
If she'd go in her house where 
Her ma's got some lemons there. 
Yes, an' bring some sugar, too, 
An' some water — then she's through. 
Next thing then, out in th' shade, 
I play makin' lemonade! 



50 



JULY JEALOUSY 

DEAR friends an' neighbors, listen 
You've heard emerge from me 
No loud-voiced lamentation 

On how things ought to be. 
But here's one point I'll argue, 

An' win it, too, I'll add — 
Us folks ain't got no mortgage 

On all th' things that's glad. 
Fer instance, you just answer 

This question double quick ! 
Ain't cattle mighty lucky 

That lives along a crick? 

To-day, out in th' hay field, 

Th' sun laid on th' lash; 
I felt life all a burden — 

An' then I heard a splash! 
An', 'way across th' pasture, 

A scene appeared to me 

51 



JULY JEALOUSY 

Which brought th' thought that cattle 

Is blessed with luxury. 
My cows stood there a-splashin' 

Th' water clear air cool, 
Whilst I, poor, strugglin' mortal, 

Was workin' like a fool. 

I toiled along an' pondered 

My own unhappy lot; 
Th' work seemed doubly harder, 

Th' sun six times as hot. 
I wiped th' oozin' moisture 

From f urries in my brow ; 
Then broke right out a-laughin' — 

I was jealous of a cow! 
Say, folks, in 'bout a minute 

My nags was in their stall 
An' I was in th' old crick, too, 

A-splashin' — clo'es an' all ! 



52 



CHRISTMAS GREENS 

SING a song of the Christmas Greens 
1 And sing of the man who goes 
Swinging them o'er the merchant's door 

And under the cynic's nose. 
Hang them high in the window there, 
Hang them low in the hallway bare, 
Arch them over the house of prayer, 
And down where the dead repose. 

Love finds voice in the Christmas Greens, 

In holly and spruce and fir; 
In swains that go where the mistletoe 

Hangs over the head of her. 
Age forgets it is old and gray, 
Feels the thrill of the smilax spray, 
Sings and dances till dawn of day, 

Though burden of years demur. 

53 



CHRISTMAS GREENS 

God puts good in the Christmas Greens, 

Their beauty new joy instills ; 
They make hearts glad instead of sad 

And banish our human ills. 
They bring a smile where once was blight, 
They flood the soul with living light 
Fair as the Star that shone that Night 
In the far Judean hills. 



54 



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£ _____ 



HELPING MOTHER 

EVER' day an' ever' day 
A/luvver she ist all time say 
I. are alsway in th' way — 
Ever' day an' ever' day ! 

So, t'-day, I says to me : 
Le's be good as I can be, 
'Cause when I help muvver she 
Gets along th' best wif me. 

So I tooked myself an' goes 
Where I'll 'prinkle wif th' hose, 
But our girl she's hangin' clo'es 
Where th' 'prinkle alsway goes. 

'Nen she blamed it all on me 
'Cause she put th' clo'es, you see, 
Where th' 'prinkle ought to be — 
Yes, an' told my ma on me ! 

56 



HELPING MOTHER 

Nex' fing lien I sweeped some dust, 
'Cause I got to help or bu'st, 
But th' girl she up an' — cussed ! — = 
1st 'cause I was sweepin' dust. 

'Nen my muvver come an' say 
Kisses is my workin' pay, 
Now I got to go an' play — 
'At's ist what my muvver say! 



57 



THE BACK WAY HOME 

YES, you've prospered well, my brother, 
Made your pile, as people say ; 
Made it while I've gone on dreaming — 
Dreaming dreams and growing gray. 

You've found joy in gaining riches, 
I've just — well, I've loafed along, 

Trusting luck to fill my larder 
While I lingered with a song. 

Still, one joy we have in common, 
Sweeter, too, than gold can buy; 

One you share in smiling balance 
With a dreamer such as I. 

That's the memory, O my brother, 
Of the paths we used to roam; 

Best of which, beyond forgetting, 
Was the dear old Back Way Home. 

58 



THE BACK WAY HOME 

I can see it now, my comrade, 
See the path our bare feet wore 

Through the pasture and the orchard, 
Straightway to the kitchen door. 

How we joyed in make-believing 
It was some far-reaching trail 

At whose end were bold, bad bandits — 
Fancies born of some wild tale ! 

You remember, too, old crony, 
How the flowers along the way 

Were to us a passing circus 
All bedecked in colors gay. 

Oh, we had a thousand fancies, 
Sweet as honey in the comb, 

You, the Earner, I, the Dreamer, 
Found along the Back Way Home ! 



60 



THE SERVICE FLAG 

DEAR little flag in the window there, 
Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer ; 
Child of Old Glory, born with a star — 
Oh, what a wonderful flag you are! 

Blue is your star in its field of white, 
Dipped in the red that was born of fight; 
Born of the blood that our forebears shed 
To raise your mother, The Flag, o'erhead. 

And now you've come, in this frenzied day, 
To speak from a window — to speak and say : 
"I am the voice of a soldier-son 
Gone to be gone till the victory's won. 

"I am the flag of The Service, sir; 
The flag of his mother — I speak for her 
Who stands by my window and waits and fears, 
But hides from the others her unwept tears. 

61 



THE SERVICE FLAG 

"I am the flag of the wives who wait 
For the safe return of a martial mate, 
A mate gone forth where the war god thrives 
To save from sacrifice other men's wives. 

"I am the flag of the sweethearts true; 
The often unthought of — the sisters, too. 
I am the flag of a mother's son 
And won't come down till the victory's won." 

Dear little flag in the window there, 
Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer ; 
Child of Old Glory, born with a star — 
Oh, what a wonderful flag you are! 



62 



CHILDHOOD KNOWS NO RACE OR CREED 

IN PEACE they sat — the three of them — 
A White, a Black, a Dog; 
No creed or cult, no walls of race, 

To bias or befog. 
The sunshine beamed on all alike 

In dreamy, drowsy bliss ; 
It, too, was free from cult or creed 
And racial prejudice. 

The Dog was pal to White and Black, 

Its heart was ever glad 
When from a hand of either hue 

A loving stroke was had. 
The three thus dwelt in comradeship, 

Unknowing that the days 
Were not far distant when their feet 

Would take divergent ways. 

63 



CHILDHOOD KNOWS NO RACE OR CREED 

They cared not how each other lived, 

In cot or house of stone; 
The Dog, with lordly manner, ruled 

A soap box all his own. 
To them the world was one long Street, 

The Yard, the Steps, the Door — 
A sunny zone of play-content, 

And who could ask for more? 

But race and creed have never lost 

Their mastery of men; 
Some day this comradeship must die 

And never live again. 
I wish that I might understand, 

With all our other sin, 
Why childhood must succumb to creed 

And hate of race begin. 



64 



MAYTIME ON MUSCATATUCK 

MAYTIME on Muscatatuck! 
Folks, that's 'zackly when 
You won't find me lingerin' 

'Round th' haunts of men. 
You won't ketch me argyin' 

Who I'd like to see, 
President er Governor — 

Just so it ain't me. 
All I want's a hook and line, 

Bait an' lots o' luck; 
Sunshine an' my truest friend, 

Old Muscatatuck! 

Maytime on Muscatatuck ! 

Sun ain't out o' bed 
'Fore I've got my britches on, 

Old hat on my head; 

66 



MAYTIME ON MUSCATATUCK 

Old shoes, too, fer I contend 

Fishin' ain't a joy 
'Less you git all wallered up 

Like you wuz a boy. 
Maybe slip down off a rock 

Lookin' up to see 
Where that blamed woodpecker's at, 

Drummin' on a tree. 

Maytime on Muscatatuck! 

Ever' now an' then 
Some bird-op'ry's busted up 

By a jay er wren. 
Makes you half-way mad, an' yit 

You can't help but smile 
At th' way them outlaws has 

Showin' off their style. 
Git your mind on them an' — law ! — 

While your 'tention's drawn, 
Catfish banquets on your bait, 

Then he's out an' gone ! 



67 



MAYTIME ON MUSCATATUCK 

Maytime on Muscatatuck ! 

Folks, I don't suppose 
Half th' world has ever heard 

Where its water flows. 
Fact is, I don't know myself 

What its name implies, 
Still I know Muscatatuck 

Soothes an' satisfies. 
Guess some happy Indian 

Must have named it that, 
Thinkin' it to mean a place 

Angels picnic at. 



68 



AIN'T GOD GOOD TO INDIANA? 

A IN'T God good to Indiana? 
j£ \_ Folks, a feller never knows 
Just how close he is to Eden 

Till, sometime, he ups an' goes 
Seekin' fairer, greener pastures 

Than he has right here at home, 
Where there's sunshine in th' clover 

An' there's honey in th' comb; 
Where th' ripples on th' river 

Kind o' chuckle as they flow — 
Ain't God good to Indiana? 

Ain't He, fellers? Ain't He though ? 

Ain't God good to Indiana? 

Seems to me He has a way 
Gittin' me all out o' humor 

Just to see how long I'll stay 
When I git th' gipsy- feelin' 

That I'd like to find a spot 

69 



AIN T GOD GOOD TO INDIANA: 

Where th' clouds ain't quite so restless, 
Or th' sun don't shine as hot. 

But, I don't git far, I'll tell you, 
Till I'm whisp'rin' soft an' low : 

Ain't God good to Indiana? 

Ain't He, fellers ? Ain't He though ? 

Ain't God good to Indiana? 

Other spots may look as fair, 
But they lack th' soothin' somethin' 

In th' Hoosier sky an' air. 
They don't have that snug-up feelin' 

Like a mother gives a child ; 
They don't soothe you, soul an' body, 

With their breezes soft an' mild. 
They don't know th' Joys o' Heaven 

Have their birthplace here below ; 
Ain't God good to Indiana? 

Ain't He, fellers ? Ain't He though ? 



70 



FELLER AND KID AND GUY 

THERE are those who turn rhythmical 
phrases 
That merge into lyrics of joy, 
But none have such heart-warming phases 

As those on the lips of a boy. 
The boy-brogue's a language progressive, 

Revised as new meanings apply, 
For Kid is as grandly impressive 
As those who are Feller and Guy. 

A Guy is just simply a Feller, 

A Feller is simply a Guy — 
A Boy was some mythical dweller 

Who lived here in ages gone by. 
But, ah, there's a touch of affection, 

A soul-warmth no churl could deny, 
When Kids give their words an inflection 

That mean "He's my pal," to a Guy. 

72 



FELLER AND KID AND GUY 

Though down by the river together, 

Or plunged in a hot game of ball, 
They're heart-happy birds of a feather ; 

Their names?— -that's no matter at all! 
One's Kid and another is Feller, 

The third — -he is simply the Guy — 
For Boy was a mythical dweller 

Who lived here in ages gone by. 



73 



TWINS IS TWINS 

TWINS is 'bout th' sweetest things 
Lord A' mighty ever brings, 
Still, they're odd as they kin be, 
'Least that's how they seem to me. 

You kain't never tell, in fact, 

Just how twins is goin' to act ; 

Yet you'd think they'd do an' say 

Twin things 'cause they're horned that way. 

Pair o' twins I know 'at does 
Queerest things 'at ever wuz; 
Mebbe one will want to play — 
Other'n don't feel thataway! 

Then, by heck, first thing you know, 
Off to play you'll see 'em go ; 
Runnin' out an' runnin' in 
Like folks should 'at's next of kin. 

74 



TWINS IS TWINS 

Next thing one will start to squall, 
Other'n — mebbe — won't at all. 
Still, I ain't a-goin' to bet 
They won't yelp a twin duet. 

Us men laughs an' says them two 
Change their minds like women do. 
Then th' women says : "Tain't strange- 
Men ain't got no minds to change !" 

Oh, them two twins sure creates 
Lots o' neighborhood debates, 
But you kain't tell how — in fact — 
Twins an' women's goin' to act! 



76 



THE MILLERSVILLE CYCLE PATH 

THE creek looked up to greet me, 
The trees swung down to meet me 
The day seemed tuned to treat me 

To Autumn's rarest hues. 
But now my gaze diverted 
Along the path that skirted 
This woodland realm deserted — 
This tempter of the muse. 

The path — was it the byway 
I cherished once as my way 
When, from the dusty highway, 

I sought a cool retreat? 
Ah, yes, it was the old one, 
The cycled and the strolled one ; 
The happy, paved-with-gold one 

Where lovers used to meet. 

77 



THE MILLERSVILLE CYCLE PATH 

Then soon my dreams were bringing 
The old days back — the singing, 
And lines of cycles stringing 

Along the wooded shore. 
But time its toll has taken — 
The old path now forsaken 
Serves only to awaken 

Dream-memories of yore. 



78 



THE KING WALKED IN HIS GARDEN 



T 



[E King walked in his garden 



I saw him there to-day, 
Amid his phlox and four o'clocks 
And sweet petunias gay. 

He wore his royal rompers, 

His royal straw hat, too, 
And all the plants of circumstance 

Were in his retinue. 

The King was proud and haughty, 

He strode in strutty style, 
Which made the pinks cast furtive winks 

And all the zinnias smile. 

He bade the proud nasturtiums 

Bow low as he passed by; 
His manner bluffed the candy tuft 

And made the poppies sigh. 
79 



THE KING WALKED IN HIS GARDEN 



The King is changed this morning,' 5 

The ragged robins said. 
We've never seen his kingly mien 

All center in his head!" 



At last the bold verbenas 

Made up their minds to know 

What lofty thing had caused their King 
To change his manner so. 

They boldly asked the reason, 

Then he began to prance. 
"Why you should see," he said with glee, 

"I'm got my firstest pants!" 



80 



LITTLE LADY JUNETIME 

IITTLE Lady Junetime, 
_J Sweet and debonair, 
Queen of park and playground, 

Welcome everywhere ! 
Clad in gowns of dainty hue, 
Pink and white and red and blue- 
All the world's in love with you, 
Lady Junetime fair. 

Little Lady Junetime 

Fickle-time is here; 
Something like the measles — 

Prevalent each year ! 
With a love that will not down 
Everybody wants to crown 
Every little girl in town 

Lady Junetime dear ! 

82 



HOW YO' ALL SPELL MARIE? 

A H'S bought ma gal a valentine, 
± V. ^ es > ma'am, ma fi-an-cee ! 
It sho' will be one big su'prise, 

But heah's whut troubles me; 
— How yo' all spell Marie? 

Ah gits de money from some rags 
Which Ah done sell to-day, 

Den down Ah goes an' buys dis dream 
Fo' ma sweet lady gay; 

— Yo' spell it how, yo' say? 

De valentine am full ob lub 

An' pinks an' vi'lets, too, 
Oh, she'll be des so crazy glad 

She'll cry befo' she's thoo; 
— Dat name ! Whut will Ah do ? 

83 



HOW YO' ALL SPELL MARIE? 

She libs des short ways up de street 
An' Ah could hab some fun 

By stickin' it down 'neaf de do', 
Den ring de bell an' run; 

— But she say: "Huh-uh, hon!" 

She say she want it come by mail 

Des lak de white gals do, 
An' if dat pos'man pass her by 

Den her an' me am thoo ; 

— Which sho' would make me blue. 

So, come on, all yo' wisdom folks, 

Come on an' he'p po' me. 
Ah's got to mail dis valentine, 

But — co'se — yo' know — yo' see 
—How DOES yo' spell Marie? 



84 



THE LITTLE OLD EVERYTHING STORE 

IF CHILDHOOD came back to me, sorrows and 
all, 
And I could be just as of yore, 
Somewhere in my world I am sure there would be 
A Little Old Everything" Store. 

There's one on the corner just over the way 
Where Youth and its pennies soon part, 

Within it are lures of a thousand designs 
To make us all spendthrifts at heart. 

I watch baby faces peer up through the glass 

Where dainties delicious abide, 
I hear baby voices discuss what they'd buy 

And how they would make the "divide." 

Child- fortunes are never sufficient by half 

To meet every fancied desire, 
Their wants run from gumdrops to marbles and 
tops, 

Or monkeys that dance on a wire. 

86 



THE LITTLE OLD EVERYTHING STORE 

It matters not what you may ask of the man 

He'll find it somewhere in the place, 
Though it may be earmuffs high up on the shelf, 

Or catcher's mitts down in the case. 

So, Childhood, come back to me, sorrows and all, 

And let me be just as of yore, 
But, most of all, give me as one of your joys 

A Little Old Everything Store ! 



87 



IT ISN'T ALONE THE SUMMERTIME 

IT ISN'T alone the Summertime 
That makes the Summer glad ; 
It isn't all trees and grasses green 
Or rose bowers, glory-clad. 

It isn't just corn in tassels gay, 

Or fields of waving wheat 
That bind us to the Summertime 

In serfdom truly sweet. 

It's the children — heaven bless them all ! 

The children, fancy free, 
That make God's boundless out-of-doors 

A happy place to be. 

Though blossoms flood the garden walk 
With fragrance sweet and rare, 

They never seem one-half as sweet 
Without the children there. 

88 



IT ISN'T ALONE THE SUMMERTIME 

The orchard, too, seems glorified, 
When from some friendly tree 

A friendly baby face peeps forth 
To grant a smile to me. 

And sometimes, down along the shore, 

Where quiet waters flow, 
The children of the Summertime 

Sing all the songs they know. 

I guess when God made Summertime, 

To make it doubly sweet 
He turned the children out-of-doors, 

Then called His work complete ! 



90 



JUNEITIS 

I'VE got Juneitis — got it bad! 
Baddest case I ever had ! 
Git up in th' mornin' blest 
With a night of soothin' rest; 
Tell myself I'm goin' to do 
Work that's lagged th' summer through. 
All I've got, at set of sun, 
Is some fancy loafin' done. 

Funny what June's symptoms is — 
It's some kind of rheumatiz 
Makes you limp in mind an' soul, 
Though your feet an' body's whole. 
Makes you feel a driftin' boat 
Would be just th' antidote 
Sure to cure you right offhand 
Of your loathin' fer th' land. 

91 



JUNEITIS 

Git a boat an' drift away — 
Naw, you don't want that to-day ! 
What you want is lemonade 
Mixed with d row. sin' in th' shade. 
Do you? Well, you mebbe don't — 
Still, you'll never say you won't. 
Faet is, when you're June all through 
You don't know just what to do. 

Yep, I've got Juneitis sure — 
Too blamed tired to hunt a eure ; 
All I want is just to be 
Left alone to loaf with me. 
Down th s river, up th' shore, 
Let me loll an' loaf an' snore. 
Yep, I've got Juneitis — bad ! 
Crazy-tired an' crazy-glad. 



92 



LITTLE TOWN OF WHAT'S-ITS-NAME 

ItTTLE Town of What's-its-name! 
_j You've been there I know ; 
There's a Town of What's-its-name 

Everywhere you go. 
Sometimes on the mountaintop, 

Sometimes in the plain ; 
See it as you motor through, 

See it from the train. 
What's-its-name is always found 

Set in rustic frame, 
And you always, always say : 

"W T onder what's its name?" 

Little Town of What's-its-name! 

All are quite alike; 
Now and then they have a fire, 

Never have a strike. 
Now and then a baby's born, 

Then somebody dies; 
93 



LITTLE TOWN OF WHAT S-ITS-NAME 

That is why old What's-its-name 

Never grows in size. 
Pictures in the albums, too, 

Look about the same — 
Fact is, things so seldom change 

Here in What's-its-name. 

Little Town of What's-its-name! 

In the Weekly Call 
Ladies' Aid proclaims a fete 

At Odd Fellows' hall. 
Sale bills decorate the trees, 

You will find one, too, 
Near the old post-office sign : 

"Box Rent Now Is Due." 
Posters in the windows say 

There's to be a game 
Friday with the Liztown Reds : 

Root for What's-its-name ! 

Little Town of What's-its-name! 

Those who glibly run 
Through your shaded thoroughfares 

Miss a lot of fun. 
You, like all the What's-its-names 
94 



LITTLE TOWN OF WHAT S-ITS-NAME 

Underneath the sky, 
Glory in a sweet content 

Money can not buy. 
Let the cities have the gold, 

Selfishness and fame ; 
You have mostly happiness, 

Little What's-its-name. 



96 



THE LAND OF SUMMERGONE 

\ LL the winds that ride the river 
J_ \__ Seemed in lonely mood to-day 
As they searched each vagrant ripple 

In a dazed, half -mournful way; 
Searched the pathway through the forest, 

Raced through summer's old retreats 
Much as would a frantic mother 

Seek her lost child in the streets. 
Soon the winds, grown weary, rested 

As a dew-shower at the dawn, 
Then they sighed and said : "The campers- 

Ah, at last they all are gone!" 

Gone they were — the care- free campers 
Who, through all the summer long, 

Made the woodland ring with laughter, 
Swept the river with their song. 

Now the campground, lone and silent, 
Grassless as Sahara's sand, 

97 



THE LAND OF SUMMERGONE 

Holds the few discarded relics 

Of a gay, departed band. 
Here a washpan, rust-enameled, 

There a mirror on a tree, 
Proof that even care-free campers 

Cling to their gentility. 

Over there Old Glory, faded, 

Limply lolls upon the breeze, 
Comrade of a once gay lantern 

From the far-off Japanese. 
There, beneath a tree, a hammock, 

Derelict beyond repair; 
Broken chairs and broken dishes — 

Desolation everywhere! 
But — our gratitude to heaven — 

Winter's snows must pass, and then 
Comes a song along the river — 

And the tents go up again! 



98 



DE PALLET ON DE FLO' 

DE TIME o' day Ah laks de bes' 
Mo' bettah, folks, dan all de res', 
Am when de chillun, frum deir play, 
Come kin' o' lazin' in an' say 
OF Drowsy Man he done'n drap 
De hint dey'd bettah take a nap. 

Dey rubs deir eyes, den gibs a yawn; 
Dat's all Ah needs to know dey's gone, 
Yes suh, dey's gone an' tol' Bo-Peep 
He'll haf to fin' his own los' sheep, 
Kase dey's got somethin' else to do — 
Dat's drowsy-dream a' hour er two. 

Fus' thing dem baby dahlin's know 
Ah's made a pallet on de no', 
Den some one stahts a pillow fight, 
But dey's too tahd to fuss it right. 
Dey snuggles down an', purty soon, 
Dey's dream-paradin' 'roun' de moon. 

99 



DE PALLET ON DE FLO' 



Ah sit an' watch 'em whilst dey sleep 
An' thank de Lawd dey's ours to keep. 
Co'se we ain't got no pile, dat's true. 
But whut we've got dey's welcome to. 
An' dat's 'bout all dey is, I guess, 
In pure ol' homemade happiness. 



100 



AN HUMBLE GRACE 

ON DIS Thanksgibben day, O Lawd ! 
Des make our heahts to be 
Full up wif love an' joy an' song 
An' thankfulness to Thee. 

Doan' let our earthly pride prevail, 

Doan' let us go astray 
F'm out de path ob righteousness 

Into de errin' way. 

Let our po' heahts sen' up a song 

Ob gratitude an' love 
Until de glory angel choir 

Shall carol it above. 

Des fill our souls wif humbleness 

To make us take de view 
Dat if we kain' hab turkey — den, 

Pohk chops will hab to do ! 
102 



LITTLE KID BROTHER OF MINE 

YOU want an uproarious Fourth of July, 
Little Kid Brother of Mine; 
Rockets that soar through the loft of the sky, 

Little Kid Brother of Mine. 
Fiz-gigs, firecrackers and meteors, too, 
Bombs that change night to a red, white and blue ; 
All a delight and a glory to you, 
Little Kid Brother of Mine. 

You've never known a real Fourth of July, 

Little Kid Brother of Mine; 
You've never seen a real meteor fly, 

Little Kid Brother of Mine. 
You've never been where the enemy's shell 
Changed the old Fourth to a militant hell — 
Fireworks that murdered wherever it fell, 

Little Kid Brother of Mine. 

103 



LITTLE KID BROTHER OF MINE 

Well I remember one Fourth of July, 

Little Kid Brother of Mine; 
Longing for calm were my comrades and I, 

Little Kid Brother of Mine. 
Forward we hurried through Belleau's dark wood, 
Up to the line where the Hun legions stood ; 
Oh, how we walloped them — walloped them good ! — 

Little Kid Brother of Mine 

My thoughts were of you that Fourth of July, 

Little Kid Brother of Mine; 
You with toy-meteors lighting the sky, 

Little Kid Brother of Mine. 
Your only foes were the watchful police, 
I hungered most for war's tumult to cease, 
Then I'd get home to you — Comrade in Peace — 

Little Kid Brother of Mine. 



104 



■ 








gg 


; 


H| ■ 





HUH-UH ! NOT ME ! 

CO'SE Ah ain't say in' Ah won't do 
Des whut ma country want me to, 
But dey's one job dat Ah fo'see 
Ain't gwine to 'tach itself to me — 
Huh-uh ! Not me ! 

Dat's dis heah ahplane stuff — No, Boss, 
Ah'll bah some othah kin' ob cross 
Lak drive a mule, er tote a gun, 
But Ah ain't flirtin' wif de sun — 
Huh-uh ! Not me ! 

Ef Ah mus' do a loop-de-loop 
Let mine be 'roun' some chicken coop ; 
It ain't gwine be up whah de crows 
Kin say Ah's trompin' on deir toes- — 
Huh-uh ! Not me ! 
106 



HUH-UH ! NOT ME! 

It sho' look sweet, Ah don't deny, 
To be a-oozin' 'roun' de sky, 
But dat's fo' folks dat's in de mood 
To pass up love an' gin an' food — 
Huh-uh! Not me! 

Down heah Ah firs' saw light ob day, 
Down heah am whah Ah' s gwine t' stay ; 
Folks, Ah don't keer to hab ma feet 
Git too blamed proud to walk de street — 
Huh-uh ! Not me ! 

So, Ah'll des wait till Gabr'el brings 
Dem good ole- fashion' angel wings 
Den, as Ah pass de ahplanes by, 
In pity, Ah'll look down an' sigh — 
Huh-uh ! Not me ! 



107 



DOWN ON TH' CRICK WITH DADDY 



D 



OWN on th' crick with Daddy ! 
That's what I call a joy; 
Down where "Th' Bends" 
Welcome as friends 
Daddy an' me — his boy ! 

Oh, how I love th' mornin's 
Daddy comes in to say : 
"Buddy, come on. 
We must be gone — 
Fishin' is good to-day!" 

Mother she fills th' basket, 
It an' th' bait's my load 

Then Dad can git 

Fishpoles that's fit 
Somewhere along th' road. 

108 



DOWN ON TH CRICK WITH DADDY 

Old crick it kind o' giggles 
When us pals come in sight, 

Waitin' to see 

Which one will be 
First one to git a bite. 

Daddy he 'tends he's jealoust 
When th' first bites my line ; 

Then I just say : 

"Aw, naw, le's play 
It's pardners — yours an' mine !" 



110 



THE WATCHMANETTE 

OI HATE to hear ye, Dinny, say ye're vexed 
av soul at me, 
Thot me talk is almost papal in its high divinity. 
Ye mustn't say thot, Dinny, all because Oi take th' 

stand 
Th' female sex is getting' too ambitious in th' land. 
Oi only say Oi'm hurted whin Oi cross th' thrack 

an' see 
A woman playin' flagman where McKenna used to 

be! 

'Twas just to-day, whoile strollin' up th' ould famil- 
iar thrack, 

Me moind on twinty years ago — an' maybe furder 
back — 

Oi thought av you an' Kelly, av O'Dowd an' Danny 
Quayle — 

A betther set av optics never squinted down a rail ; 

111 



THE WATCHMANETTE 

A betther set of min, Oi'll say, has niver clenched a 

fist, 
An' we'll not forget McKenna whin we're makin' 

out th' list. 

But thot's th' bygones, Dinny, an' th' thought Oi 

would convey 
Is it hurted me tremenjous whin Oi saw her there 

to-day. 
She didn't wave McKenna' s flag — thot's far too out 

o' date ! — 
Instead she held a ''Stop!" sign up whin she would 

have ye wait. 
An', Dinny man, her shanty is as nate as anny pin — 
There's not a box in all th' place t' knock yer ashes 

in! 

Th' poor ould sthove ain't freckled as it once was 

anny more — 
There's no gang sittin' spittin' an' a missin' av th' 

door ! 



112 



THE WATCH MANET TE 

She's what they call a Watchmanette — whatever 

thot may be — 
An' still Oi can't be bitter, for she sure was good 

to me. 
Ye see Oi stood there dreamin' av th' happy days 

thot were 
An' th' Fasht Mail would a-hit me — if hadn't been 

for her ! 



113 



THE OLD HOMEMADE WAGON 

THERE came 'round the corner a boy-pro- 
pelled wagon, 
A homely creation of woodshed design, 
And soon I was drinking from Memory's flagon, 

Imbued with a fancy the wagon was mine. 
I once owned one like it — why should I not claim 
it?— 
Though mine was a treasure of decades ago; 
In all of its outlines, its body and frame it 

Resembled the wagon I once cherished so. 
The pine-shoebox wagon, the wabbly-wheeled 
wagon, 
The old homemade wagon I had long ago. 

How happy I was when my pals, Red and Humpy, 

Would join me on Saturday back in our shed, 
Where each would declare me both selfish and 



grumpy 

te nails i] 



If I drove the nails in the wagon's new bed. 



THE OLD HOMEMADE WAGON 

But apples and cakes from the kitchen appeased 
them, 
The bulliest bribe I had means to bestow. 
They then found the axles, sandpapered and greased 
them, 
And called it "Our" wagon — a name apropos — 
The woodshed-made wagon, the lopsided wagon, 
The soft-soap-greased wagon we built long ago. 

The wheels of this wagon and mine greatly vary. 

For Time and Invention no man can retard ; 
These issued from metal, my own were of cherry, 
All hewn from a tree that once grew in our yard. 
Still, why make distinctions? Boycraft may be 
changing, 
But boy hearts with chumship forever will glow. 
They're always "in pardners," promoting, arrang- 
ing 
To build a new wagon ! — - like ours was, you 
know. 
The cherry-wheeled wagon, the "pardnership" 
wagon, 
The heart-cherished wagon we built long ago. 

116 



s 



THE SOLDIER OF THE SILENCES 

WEET Soldier of the Silences! You who, in 
garb of white, 

Wage war's retrieving battles through the watches 
of the night; 

You who, from Lens and Verdun, bring our bullet- 
battered men 

To feel the magic of your touch and make them 
whole again; 

Ii] you we lay a master- faith and pledge that faith 
anew 

As each day makes more glorious the martyrdom of 
you. 

Sweet Soldier of the Silences ! You've left your all 

behind 
To make the sad become the glad; to comfort, 

soothe and bind. 

117 



THE SOLDIER OF THE SILENCES 

While others calmly slumber you must ever be alert 
To catch the slightest murmur that reveals a restless 

hurt. 
How calm you are in trying hours, how glad you 

are to share 
Another's pain and with your smile make pain less 

hard to bear. 

Sweet Soldier of the Silences! Adown the long 
white aisle 

You tiptoe all unmindfully of hour or day or mile; 

A bandage here, a tuck-in there, a drink, a touch of 
hand 

That only soldiers such as ours have soul to under- 
stand. 
* Your Red Cross emblem they'll defend through 
stress of time and tide ; 

It is God's goodness manifest — Old Glory sancti- 
fied! 



118 



A DISSERTATION ON LICKRISH 

1ICKRISH is as lickrish does!" 
_J Truer sayin' never wuz; 
Lickrish, to my notion, beats 
All th' other boughten sweets. 
That's because I think it's done 
More to manufacture fun 
Than you'd ever hope to find 
In th' 'ristocratic kind. 

Bon bons they don't make a smear 

Runnin' 'round from ear to ear. 

Give a baby lickrish drops 

An' it hardly ever stops 

Till it's decorated up 

Like a show clown does his pup. 

Ain't no circus ever wuz 

Makes me laugh like lickrish does ! 

119 



A DISSERTATION ON LICKRISH 

'Member when I wuz a kid 
How us blame fool young'uns did : 
Git a nickel, off we'd race 
To th' nearest lickrish place. 
Couldn't wait to git outside 
'Fore we started to divide ; 
Then we'd stand around an' try 
Seein' which could drownd a fly. 

Lickrish ain't all laughter, though ; 
It's been found to have its woe ! 
Take, fer instance, when you'd squirt 
Lickrish on yer Sunday shirt. 
Lots o' sweethearts, too, has been 
Lost by lickrish on yer chin. 
I've heard wimmen swear they'd saw 
Real terbacker in yer jaw! 



120 



AN IDLER ON CATARACT 

EVER git so doggoned tired 
Bein' hired and bein' fired 
You just want to find a place 
Where a job's a deep disgrace? 
Well, I've got th' place to go 
When you git to feelin' so. 
How'd I find it? Why, gee whiz, 
Work ain't all th' joy they is ! 

Seems like I just got wore out 
Hearin' our blamed foreman shout 
''You do this an' you do that, 
Elst put on your coat an' hat !" 
Did I put 'em on? Well, say, 
I ain't worked since week to-day. 
I just quit 'em ! It's a fact ! 
Then lit out fer Cataract ! 

121 



AN IDLER ON CATARACT 

Cataract, you know, is down 
Where they ain't no crowded town ; 
Where they ain't no sounds at all, 
'Cept th' singin' waterfall; 
Singin' birds an' singin' me 
Crowdin' God with melody. 
We just sing till I git glad 
I've quit ever' job I had! 

Folks don't thrive, I can't deny, 
Countin' ripples racin' by, 
Still I think it's just th' trick 
When you're slow on 'rithmetic. 
Cataract's a big help, too, 
When your loafin' days are through. 
Ain't it proof to every shirk, 
Singin' helps you do your work ? 




